Red Delicious
by Donnamour1969
Summary: 2nd in my Season 3 AU series. Mashburn's unexpected return leaves Lisbon with a tough choice.  Will she choose Jane? Rated T/M for adult content.  No copyright infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1

Red Delicious

A/N: Welcome to the sequel to my fic, "Red Ryder." You don't have to read that one first, but it might fill in some blanks. I think I explain enough back story to get you by, so, if you are new to my writing, please go ahead and give this a try, then decide if you want to go back. Either way, I hope you enjoy this first chapter.

Chapter 1

Jane had forgotten what happiness felt like, but as he walked into CBI Headquarters that Monday morning, he remembered that it felt…warm. He felt it in his hands, his face, his heart. Warm and…light, like he could walk on air, float on a cloud, and all those other trite metaphors he was so fond of poking fun of.

_I'm in love with Teresa Lisbon._

He said it in his head for about the millionth time, but his true feelings for her would remain unspoken until she was ready to hear it, and to say it back. But memories of their recent stay on a certain island made it difficult to keep his word.

He'd kissed her and seen her naked and slept all night in her arms. It was just a matter of time before Lisbon invited him into her apartment and into her bed. Contemplating that brought a new ache, a little farther south of his heart. His grin widened, and the dreamy look in his blue eyes drew the attention of every woman he passed on the building's ground floor. He nodded at them, said hello, dazzled them with the beauty that was Patrick Jane in love. But all they knew was that the man was obviously in a good mood, and his grin covered some sensual secret they would be shocked to learn involved the lead agent in the Serious Crimes Unit.

It had all seemed too good to be true, so, of course, experience should have told him that it was. In hindsight, Jane should have known better. All the happy whistling and the spring in your step couldn't stop reality from kicking you in the ass sometimes. Or, in Jane's case, reaching out and ripping out his heart.

As he got off the elevator, his pathway to the bullpen brought him by Lisbon's glass windowed office. The anticipation of seeing her again made his heart pound and his palms sweat, despite his outward calm. The shock of seeing her in the arms of Walter Mashburn slammed into him like a physical blow, depriving him of breath and making him stop short in the middle of the hallway, narrowly escaping being run over by the mailroom guy and his cart.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jane," said the young intern.

Jane was too flummoxed to respond. He could only stand and stare at the spectacle that Lisbon didn't seem the least bit embarrassed to be a part of. Their hug turned into a fond kiss Mashburn planted on her cheek, and he pulled away politely, but still stood very much in her personal space, her hands in his, returning Lisbon's welcoming smile.

The reality, of course, was that Walter Mashburn, millionaire playboy, had already planted his tent pole in Lisbon's front yard, so to speak. When Jane had visited him in his hotel suite last time he was in California, he knew Mashburn had been hiding something in the other room. The next morning, when Lisbon had shown up at a crime scene wearing the same clothes she'd worn the day before, there had been no doubt in Jane's mind that she'd slept with him. At the time, he'd tried his best to be happy for them. He liked Mashburn, although he was clearly a womanizer, and he was sure Lisbon hadn't had a man in her bed in some time. A wealthy, intelligent man like Walter Mashburn would be just the person to sweep her off her feet and take her out of her comfort zone. He'd really thought they would be good for each other, so it was with some surprise that Jane had felt the sting of jealousy. Naturally, he blamed himself for allowing it to happen. He'd encouraged their relationship, feeling at the time that it was better for her to be romantically involved with another man rather than risk Red John hurting someone else he loved. _God, how could I have been so stupid?_

He watched as Mashburn released Lisbon and sat in a chair across from her desk. She sat too, and they began talking animatedly, still oblivious to his presence in the hall ten feet from her office. Jane's first instinct was to run away—to the restroom, up to the attic, back down to his car. His second instinct tapped into his violent streak, as a vision formed of pummeling Mashburn into a bloody pulp. But it was calm, cool, and collected Jane that took over, as did his instinct for self-flagellation whenever an opportunity arose. So before he could act on instinct number one, he walked to Lisbon's door and tapped lightly.

Two pairs of eyes flew to his, one pair with welcoming affection, the other impassive and blank. Jane automatically put on his mask of good-natured humor—there was nothing a sunny smile couldn't hide.

"Patrick! So great to see you!" Mashburn stood and shook Jane's hand emphatically.

"Walter. What brings you by the CBI. In trouble again?" Jane was only half-kidding, and Mashburn picked up on it easily.

Mashburn laughed. "I know, not a surprising leap, given our recent history. No, just was in the neighborhood. Got back earlier than planned from some business in Europe, and wondered what you guys were up to."

"Come on, Walter. That's a very thin cover story. You came to see Lisbon, of course."

"Jane—" said Lisbon in her trademark tone of warning. Both men ignored her.

"Boy, I do admire your directness, Patrick. Yes, you figured me out. I've come once again to try to get Lisbon to go out with me. Even though I'm considered a great catch, she's still resisting me. Can you imagine that?"

"No," said Jane, eyes trained on Lisbon, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. "But then, she didn't resist you much a few weeks ago, did she?"

There was a stunned silence as Lisbon's eyes widened and settled on his.

"I'm too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell, or to sully a lady's reputation." Some of the humor left Mashburn's eyes.

Jane scoffed, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed defensively in front of him. "Since when? It's hard to get away from those tabloid reports, no matter how hard you try, isn't it?"

The two men regarded each other, both taken by surprise by the change in the air between them. Just three weeks ago, they might have considered each other friends. Mashburn was looking at Jane with new eyes now, marveling at how territorial he'd become in just three short weeks.

"Did I miss something?" He turned to Lisbon, whose face was flushed with embarrassment, her jaw clenched in anger. "Teresa, are you and Patrick…_involved_?"

Jane waited with great interest for her response. He realized belatedly that he was putting Lisbon in a very tough position, and he felt suddenly contrite. "No, of course not," Jane answered for her. "I'm just a little protective of her, is all. Sort of like a big brother would be. Right, Lisbon?"

She cleared her throat. "Uh. Right. Don't mind him, Walter. He's got a bad habit of saying whatever comes to his mind." She gave Jane a meaningful glare.

_Not everything,_ Jane thought.

"So, does that mean you'll go out with me?" Mashburn asked Lisbon again. "I'd like to take you out on the town, show you off. What do ya say?"

Lisbon looked at Jane, who looked pointedly away. It was her move, her decision. "Don't let me stop you," said Jane under his breath. He was testing her, but she wasn't going to have any of it. No man was going to dictate what she did with her life, not even one whose recent kisses could melt her into a gooey puddle on the floor.

"I would love to, Walter. What time?"

"I'll send a car for you at 7:30. Will you be at your apartment?"

"Yes. The address is—"  
"I know your address," Mashburn said with a smug grin. He leaned across Lisbon's desk and gently kissed her cheek. "I'll see you then, Teresa."

He turned to Jane as if expecting some sort of formal protest. "Good to see you as always, Patrick. We'll have to go out for a drink sometime, maybe take a drive in my new car. I always wanted a big brother myself," he smirked.

Jane almost smiled. He hated that he still liked the man so much, despite the fact that Mashburn had had Lisbon before he had.  
"See ya around, Walter." They shook hands again, and left Jane and Lisbon in a room brimming with tension. Jane must have made a movement to leave, for Lisbon didn't wait long to pounce.

"Don't even think of going anywhere, Jane," Lisbon said through gritted teeth. "Shut the door and get your ass in here."

Jane raised an amused eyebrow, but did as he was told. She was still his boss at the office, after all.

"What the hell just happened here?"

"Looks like you have a date tonight, Lisbon."

"And whose fault is that? You basically goaded me into it."

Jane laughed humorlessly. "Since when does Teresa Lisbon do what she doesn't want to do? I was there, remember? Accepting his invitation was your decision." She stared at him until he gave in and looked away. Her tone softened.

"So you knew about Walter and me. You never brought it up before…not even on the island."

"Before the island, it _was _none of my business. He seemed to make you happy, and that's all I've ever wanted for you, Lisbon."

"And it's your business now?"  
"I thought so. You're seeing him again, so I guess that makes it pretty clear where you stand with me."

She sighed, one hand moving to pinch the bridge of her nose. One of her famous tension headaches was coming on, and it wasn't even ten o'clock.

"Look, you and I have made no commitments," Jane continued. "You're free to be with whomever you want. Walter Mashburn _is_ a good catch. And you can date him without either of us losing our jobs. Sounds like the better alternative, given your penchant for logic."

"So that's it. You're just giving up then? What about the island?" Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. "We both made some decisions there, didn't we?"

Their gazes held, each remembering the passion, the romance, the revelation of how it could be between them.

"I guess I knew this would happen," said Jane, willfully brushing those images aside. "We'd get back to reality and it would be as if it had never happened. It's for the best, I guess. Go on your date with Mashburn. Be happy, Lisbon." He moved to open her office door.

"Jane, stop. This is—" she fumbled for the right word—"crazy. Why are we so mad? Why are we acting this way?"

"Because Walter Mashburn showed up and you have feelings for him. I'm not blind, Lisbon. I know how the world works."

She picked up the phone and began punching in some numbers.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"I'm calling Walter, cancelling our date."

"Don't," he said. "Not on my account. Go out with him. See what you'd be missing if you embarked on something with me. I want you to, so that if you do choose me, there will never be any doubts about what might have been with him. But I don't think you _will _choose me, Lisbon. You shouldn't be made to choose between this job you love and having a relationship with me. You deserve to be with a man you can be openly affectionate with. Seeing him kiss you here, in the middle of CBI Headquarters, just drove home how ill advised it would be for us. We were fools to think that it was even possible."

"But—"

"No buts, Teresa. Have fun on your date. I have some serious couch thinking to do."

"But you gave me…tea. That was supposed to mean something." She smiled softly at him, hoping to get him to pull out of this funk Mashburn's appearance had caused.

He smiled back, sadly. "Seems Walter Mashburn has enjoyed tea with you already. I'm not sure I'm into tea…parties. Gather ye teabags while ye may, Lisbon, etcetera, etcetera…"

He opened the door and this time, she let him leave. Lisbon suppressed the urge to cry, sitting back down and cursing how she could experience a personal drought for years, then feel like drowning when it was suddenly raining men. Well, two men, anyway. Two great men. Walter…rich, charming, but not exactly husband material, given how many wives he'd been through. But she sensed that he was different with her. They related on a deeper level, and she felt genuine caring from him. He was exasperating and spoiled and loved the spotlight, and hated following rules. Sort of like…Jane.

Why hadn't she seen it before? Walter was just like Jane in so many ways. He was Jane without all the emotional baggage, unless you count all the messy divorces. She smiled. He was Jane with cash. But they were certainly their own men too, each with their own styles and ways of looking at the world. Jane, having gone through immense tragedy, now appreciated the simpler things. The taste of an orange. The smell of the sea. A cup of tea. A good nap. He wore expensive suits, but they always seemed rumpled, slept in (because they often were). His hair was the same way. She'd bet he spent a week's salary to get his hair cut, although he tended to go a long time between trims, and his face was more likely than not to be unshaven. He was the best, most intuitive judge of character she had ever known. He was not formally educated, yet he was more intelligent than any professor or erudite lawyer, that unconventional brain of his storing vast amounts of knowledge, both important and trivial.

Walter, on the other hand, was always meticulously coifed and pressed. He appreciated the finer things, whether it was his car, his house, or his boat. He'd gone to prep school, then Harvard, racking up the best education money can buy. He was carefree, but a genius in business. A modern day tycoon. He was just as intuitive as Jane in many ways, yet his intuition hadn't kept him from marrying the wrong women, again and again. He made her laugh, infuriated her, and kept her guessing constantly about his motives. Again, just like Jane. It wouldn't take much for her to fall in love with either of these men, for she was already halfway there with both of them.

Her recent time spent alone with Jane had blotted Walter from her mind completely, but the moment he'd stepped into her office that morning, she could only focus on Walter and how much his charismatic presence overwhelmed her. And when both men were in the same room together, having had intimate moments with each of them, good God, she felt like she'd been pole axed! She didn't know whose face to latch onto, whose voice to focus on, whose magnetism attracted her more. It was almost too much for a mortal woman to endure. If Jane hadn't pissed her off so much, she might just as likely have gone out with him tonight. What did this say about _her_ character?

Lisbon reached into her drawer for some aspirin, downed them with her cold coffee, made a face and put her head in her hands. She prayed for a case—any case—to get her mind off her dilemma. She suddenly recognized the humor in the situation. Given the attraction each man posed, most women would love to have her problems. Maybe she'd been looking at this in the wrong way. Two wonderful men were courting her, and she decided that she would let them. She just had to let Jane know he was still in the game.

_May the best man win, _Lisbon thought, her headache beginning to fade just a little. She reached for her discarded pen, tapping it on her desk in thought. _Now, how to get Jane off his couch, both literally and figuratively?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane lay on his back on his couch in the bullpen, looking up at Elvis with a small grin of satisfaction. He couldn't believe Lisbon had fallen for the oldest trick in the book: reverse psychology. Sure, he'd been taken off guard by the reappearance of Walter Mashburn, but as Jane saw just how torn Lisbon was, he knew there was still hope that she would pick him over the millionaire. She'd been suppressing her feelings toward Jane, he knew, so Mashburn could be just the catalyst to push her into Jane's arms forever. She'd just have to see what she was missing when she was with Mashburn, and she'd come crawling back to Jane, begging him to love her. At least, that was the theory.

He knew there was still the very real possibility that she would choose Mashburn, or even dump both of them for the first love of her life, her job. But then he saw Lisbon's reaction to Jane giving up; she was angry with him, saddened even. It hurt a little that she thought he would give up so easily. Didn't she remember how relentless he could be when he wanted something? But this was new territory for Lisbon—two guys vying for her favors. She must feel very flattered, though somewhat confused. So, to put his plan in motion, he got her to go out with Mashburn. He knew that because she was so pissed at Jane, she'd be thinking about Jane all through their date. The gourmet food would seem bland to her. The conversation would be stilted. She might even drink too much wine. She'd be imagining him, _poor Jane_, alone on his couch, contemplating God knows what.

His smile widened. _Yeah, this could so work_.

"What are you smiling about?" Grace Van Pelt asked from her nearby desk.

"Can't a man be happy?" Jane said, amused that she had been watching him.

"Sure, but when _you_ are, there's always something up. Since you just came from Lisbon's office, I bet you are working on some diabolical scheme involving her. Am I right?"

He chuckled good-naturedly. "Now, Grace, there's no need to show off your new-found detective skills. I'm merely lying here, taking pleasure in the new day."

"Yeah," interjected Wayne Rigsby, always listening when Van Pelt had something to say. "Men don't always have ulterior motives. Let the man be happy. I'll bet he just got some good news."

Van Pelt snorted. "Oh, please. Just before Jane came out, you and Cho were taking bets on whether Lisbon was going out with Walter Mashburn. You have an ulterior motive just getting involved in my conversation with Jane. You're trying to fish for information."

Rigsby looked decidedly uncomfortable, while a ghost of a grin haunted Kimball Cho's lips for a moment, then was gone. His fingers continued their soft clicking on his computer keyboard.

"Okay, I admit it," Rigsby said at last. "So now I'll avoid politely probing and ask Jane outright: did Mashburn ask Lisbon out or not? And what did she say?"

Jane closed his eyes, still smiling, but settling more deeply into his couch. "You know I'm not one for office gossip. Ask her yourself."

"Come on, Jane," Rigsby pleaded. "we only want Lisbon to be happy. Mashburn is extremely cool. And he has great taste in cars. She'd be crazy to turn the guy down."

"It's none of our business," Van Pelt chided, sticking up for her fellow woman.

Jane opened one eye and contemplated the young agent. "Now who's being disingenuous, Grace? You want to know just as badly as these two gamblers, but you hide behind that facade of _woman solidarity. _We all know you'll just catch Lisbon in the break room and do some probing of your own. Woman solidarity. Bah." He closed his eye and went back to listening to the two agents bicker.

"Yeah," Rigsby agreed lamely.

Van Pelt flushed. "Okay, I admit it. I'm dying of curiosity. But at least I'm not debasing her by betting about her love life."

"We're not debasing her. We are only looking out for her, ready to be there if she's broken-hearted, ready to drink the high-dollar champagne should she marry the guy. Hey, you think he'd let me drive his new Ferrari?"

"You're a pig," said Van Pelt, turning back to her computer.

Jane suddenly sat up. "Okay, you two, enough. Can't a guy get any sleep around here? I'm going against all my moral standards by telling you this, but if it's the only thing that will shut you up—"

He grinned internally at how all eyes—even Cho's—were upon him. "Yes, Mashburn asked Lisbon out. And she said…" He dragged it out for the sake of showmanship. "Yes."

"Ha! Pay up, Cho!"

Cho shook his head sadly, then pulled out his wallet and slapped a ten into Rigsby's waiting hand. Cho had noted the change in the air between Jane and Lisbon a few days ago, and he was secretly happy they were finally waking up to what he'd figured out about them a long time ago. The Mashburn development was completely unexpected, but Cho had met both men, and knew Jane deserved happiness way more than the self-involved lothario, and that Lisbon certainly deserved better than a creep like that. They were two of Cho's favorite people in the world, and, being a romantic at heart, he wanted them to find a way to make things work.

Jane caught Cho's eye, assessing his feelings accurately with some surprise. He nodded slightly, and Cho nodded back, as if to say: _I'm totally on your side, man. _With that secret endorsement, Jane felt his earlier lightness returning, the excitement of a challenge just adding to it. He slapped his knees softly, then made his way to the break room for a nice cup of morning tea.

A/N: You like? Well please let me know! Be sure to log in before you review so I can respond to you directly. I can't wait to hear what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm so glad many of you are liking this story. Thanks for the great reviews. I know the first chapter had a lot of exposition, so I'd like to balance it out with more dialogue in this chapter. I'm actually very pleased with this chapter, which is why I couldn't wait to post it. I hope you don't mind two in one weekend .

Chapter 2

Lisbon tried to focus on what Walter was saying, she really did. Dinner had been lovely—Italian fusion—but she hadn't been able to taste a thing. All she could think about was Jane, looking so lost, so alone, so broken by her decision to be with Walter tonight.

"Teresa? Hello…Teresa?" She started, aware that her attention had wandered.

"Oh, I'm sorry Walter. There's a lot on my mind."

"A case?"

"No," she said, because she couldn't tell him the polite lie. "I'm worried about Jane, actually."

Mashburn sat back in his chair, taking a sip of wine. "I was right, wasn't I? About you and Patrick?"

She cast her eyes down, ashamed she hadn't admitted it before. "Yes. It all happened so suddenly, last week. I realized I have…certain feelings for him." She reached across the table to take Mashburn's hand, bravely meeting his eyes. "But I have feelings for you too, Walter, I do. I just can't get things straight in my mind. And Jane was so upset when he saw I was going out with you tonight. I guess he thought we had an understanding…"

"And do you?" He felt himself holding his breath, waiting for her answer. He laced his fingers with hers.

She sighed. "Not in the conventional sense, no, especially since I don't exactly understand what the hell is going on between us."

He was quiet a moment, considering. He had realized, on his short-lived trip to Europe, that he had really missed her. Brief phone calls weren't cutting it for him. He couldn't get their night together out of his mind to focus fully on business, so he'd said the hell with it and cut his trip short. He had found, to his surprise, that he was wildly infatuated with the sexy CBI agent, and hadn't experienced such excitement for a woman in years. She was so erotic, so passionate in her lovemaking, that he'd been completely undone by her. She could lead him around by the balls and he'd follow her willingly. Maybe it was because she was the first woman to have been unimpressed with his wealth, the first woman unwilling to put up with his crap, the first woman to leave the next morning before he did. He'd finally found a woman worth pursuing after bedding, and now she was considering another man? Well, that just wouldn't do.

"If you don't mind my asking, Teresa, what exactly did Patrick say to upset you so much?"

She hesitated, trying to decide if she should tell him or not. _Wow,_ he thought. _That bad, huh?_

"He encouraged me to go out with you. Said I needed to know what I'd be missing if I chose to be with him."

"Oh, really? That was very selfless of him." Mashburn tried hard to suppress the sarcasm from his voice. Lisbon smiled slightly, sensing it nonetheless. He smiled back.

"Anyway…Jane also said that, given your particular attributes, and the fact that I wouldn't have to hide a relationship with you, that I would choose to be with you and not him."

_This guy is good. _

Mashburn hid his slow, Grinch-like grin behind his napkin. He wondered how well it would go over if he informed Teresa she was being played by a master. It might gain him some points, but likely wouldn't put her in a better mood tonight. _Better handle this with utmost finesse. _ But then the last thing she'd said suddenly sank in.

"Wait—you would have to hide if you were dating him?"

"Yes. It's against CBI regulations for members of the same team to become involved. One of us would have to be reassigned."

"You don't say."

"Walter—"

"Don't worry, Teresa, whatever happens, whomever you chose, I wouldn't betray your confidence. I like you too much." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Besides, you're here with _me _now. No more talk about Patrick Jane, okay? I can see I have some major competition for your favors, so allow me to ratchet up my charm and win you over, okay?"

"Really, Walter, you don't have to compete with Jane. You're great just the way you are. I'm sorry I've put a damper on things—"

"Nonsense. I want to be your friend, Teresa. And we share our troubles with our friends, right?"

She laughed, attacking her wine with renewed gusto. "Sure, Walter. Whatever you say."

For the next hour they spoke and laughed about other things, but he could tell her heart and attention weren't completely in it.

_Patrick Jane, that sneaky bastard. He's to blame for planting the seeds of doubt in her mind. _

After they left the restaurant, Mashburn dismissed the limo driver and offered to drive Teresa home in his new Ferrari. She wholeheartedly agreed. She was a girl after his own heart, loving the thrill of riding in a fast car—but not too fast—no breaking the rules with Teresa Lisbon. At the door of her apartment, he kissed her passionately, trying to regain the ground he'd lost and wrangle an invitation into her bed. She kissed him back, and he felt her matching passion, but she'd put the brakes on, feigning tiredness and work the next day, leaving him heaving and hard outside her closed apartment door.

_Dammit._

He sat in his car a few minutes, willing himself to calm down, angry and frustrated beyond measure. Making a decision, he pulled out his phone and called his personal secretary.

"Wendy, I need Patrick Jane's home address, pronto."

Twenty minutes later, Mashburn was locking his car and walking up to Jane's door. It was only about 10:30, so he was surprised when the consultant answered in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He didn't look too surprised to see him, and he smiled that annoying, sunny smile that always seemed to be hiding his true feelings.

"Walter, what a pleasant surprise. Do come in."

He stepped aside so Mashburn could enter his simply furnished abode. "I didn't wake you, did I Patrick?"

"Nah. I don't sleep well, so some nights I try to get an early start. I was actually making myself some tea. Chamomile is always very relaxing. Would you like some?"

"No thanks."

Mashburn looked around the small apartment that had all the charm of a cheap hotel room. Everything was beige and blah. "Nice place," he said, but Jane just raised an eyebrow, not believing the complement at all.

"Home sweet home."

He disposed of his tea bag and joined Mashburn in the living area, each man sitting on opposite ends of the couch—the only place to sit in the spartan apartment.

"So," Jane began conversationally. "How was your date with Lisbon?"

He watched with some amusement at the brief flash of anger in Mashburn's eyes. "I think, given your conversation with her after I left her office this morning, that you likely have a pretty good idea. I mean, I'm here with you instead of in Teresa's bed-you figure it out."

Jane smiled into his tea, but made no comment.

"You're playing her, and I don't like it."

Jane set down his cup and saucer on the functional coffee table. "Is that what she said?"

"No. She has no idea, which makes it even more despicable."

Jane laughed softly. "Oh, please, Walter, don't go all noble on me. How many women have _you _played in your lifetime? As a matter of fact, I bet you have at least two other women on a string at this very moment."

Mashburn's cheeks flushed in annoyance, but he didn't deny it. "But Teresa is different. She doesn't deserve those kinds of tricks, and you know it."

"No," said Jane, deadly serious. "No, she doesn't. And I'm not _playing her _as you so basely put it. I'm fighting for her. I'm in love with her, but she just needs a kick in the pants to figure out she loves me too." He went back to grinning. "You're her kick in the pants."

"Well," said Mashburn, always a fan of the absurd. "I've been called worse. And just so you know, Patrick, I've fallen for her too, and I'm up to the challenge of beating you at your own game."

"I'm not playing games."

Mashburn snorted. "Like hell, you aren't. Encouraging her to go out with me? What kind of messed up reverse psychology is that? I'm not such a bad guy, you know. Your little plan just might backfire."

"You're very perceptive, Walter, which is why Lisbon's so attracted to you. And your attributes are obvious, but you won't be able to rely on money this time as a way to her heart. Call it a game if you like, but you're gonna have to step up yours if you're going to compete with me. She loves me, and I was here first. She needs me in her life and at work—two places you'll never fit in, not with your lifestyle."

"But you and I both know there's one place I've been first with her. And it's tearing you up inside to even think about it."

Jane, despite his immense skill in schooling his expressions, couldn't help but flinch as Mashburn's barb hit its mark.

"She told you?"

Mashburn grinned at pulling one over on the so-called _mentalist_. "No. But thanks for confirming it for me. That's very useful information."

Jane picked up his tea, trying not to show how shaken he was. This was one area that Mashburn could clearly dominate him in. He wasn't worried about Mashburn's money or power—Lisbon wasn't impressed by these things. But good in bed? Yeah, she'd be impressed by that. Despite his recent intimacies with her, they hadn't fully consummated their relationship, and Jane was painfully out of practice after years of self-imposed celibacy. Not that he'd ever had any complaints—quite the contrary, actually—but it had been awhile, and he realized that in order to keep her satisfied, he'd have to _keep her satisfied._ He gulped his tea, scalding his throat a little.

Mashburn allowed Jane to simmer a minute in his own inadequacies, before landing his final blow for the evening. "Teresa also gave me another piece of ammunition."

"Oh? Please, fire away."

"She told me it was against CBI regulations for you two to be involved. You know, I could put the kibosh on this whole thing right now just by going to her boss. What's her name? Hightower? I would act as a concerned citizen, informing her of certain improprieties going on right under her nose. You'd be gone in no time, and then you'd be out of Teresa's work, _and_ out of her bed."

Jane evaluated him a moment, trying to look past the smirk he wore to find his true intentions. He smiled confidently at what he saw. "You're bluffing," he proclaimed.

"Am I?"

"Of course you are, Walter. You know as well as I do that she'd drop you like a bad habit if you betrayed her in that way. She'd come running to me, and I'd win by default. So go ahead, take that route. But I don't think you will. Despite your threats, you care about her too much to hurt her like that. So, it seems to me, the playing field is level, at least in that regard. Nice try though." He toasted him with his teacup.

The two men eyed each other with newfound respect. Each would be a formidable opponent, and would stop at nothing, save directly hurting Lisbon, to get her for his own.

"Well, Patrick, this conversation has been most enlightening." He rose and Jane did too. They shook hands heartily, liking each other despite this war they'd begun. And they weren't fooling themselves—_war_ it would be.

"I'd say may the better man win, but that isn't always the way it is in the real world, is it Walter?"

"Unfortunately no, or I'd be in a heap of trouble right now."

They both grinned at his self-deprecating humor. Jane walked his guest to the door, energized by the mentally stimulating encounter. Despite the very high stakes, he was actually looking forward to the challenge ahead, because it would be a battle of wits against a very worthy adversary. He wasn't fooling himself though-he could very well lose, but he knew in his heart Lisbon loved him, and that is what would keep him fighting.

"See ya around, Patrick."

"Walter," he acknowledged with a nod. "Drive safely. There are a lot of crazies out there."

Mashburn laughed and walked back to his car, calling back over his shoulder: "Ain't it the truth, my friend, ain't it the truth…"

TBC

A/N: I really had fun with this one, and I hope my muse keeps me going throughout the rest of the story. I do know your reviews are like chocolate to me, which is a good thing, because chocolate is the best thing in the world! (maybe not so good to my hips-the chocolate, I mean, not your reviews, so I'm happy to consume all you can give me!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm loving these reviews, folks! Now, if I can only keep out of the Christmas fudge. This chapter gets a little steamy—I don't think it's quite "M" rated, but thought I'd warn you anyway. And I've noticed in the reviews there are some who love Mashburn and some who don't. I'll try to be respectful of both sides, because hey, I want this to be a war between gentlemen. And Jane may be hotter, but you gotta admit, Lisbon seemed pretty darn happy at the end of "Red Hot." That being said, on with…

Chapter 3

Lisbon arrived at work the next morning, tired after tossing and turning half the night. Why had she felt like she was cheating on Jane when she kissed Walter goodnight? She wasn't ready to contemplate that, especially because, despite her feelings of guilt later, she had thoroughly enjoyed his kiss, and had been sorely tempted to invite him in. But she felt that it would be unfair to both men if she slept with Walter again when she still had unresolved feelings for Jane. Still, thoughts of them tormented her and made for a very restless night indeed.

She walked into her office, giving a wave to Van Pelt as she looked up from her desk in the bullpen. She set down her to-go cup of coffee. A gift was awaiting Lisbon on her own desk: a small basket of Red Delicious apples. She recognized the basket from a nearby farmer's market, and each apple looked hand chosen, shiny, and perfect. An envelope rested against the basket, and she reached down to open it, having no doubt who had given it to her.

_Teresa,_

_Please consider this as either a peace offering or a symbol of temptation. It's your choice. _

_Yours,_

_Jane_

She laughed out loud. How could she stay mad at him when he would turn around and do something so sweet and just a little bit naughty? Once it had been strawberries to appease her; this time, her favorite apples. She and Jane both shared a weakness for fresh fruit, and, on impulse, she picked up two apples, one for each jacket pocket, and went off in search of her benefactor.

When she couldn't find him on his couch or in the break room, she went upstairs to his attic hideaway. She was happy that he hadn't been spending as much time there lately, and she liked to think it was because he was giving up on the stupid notion that distancing himself from the team would protect them from Red John. That's why it worried her a little that he was there today.

She found him sitting in the chair by the window and she took a moment to study him from the doorway before he was aware that she was there. The cascading sunlight did beautiful things to the golden strands in his hair, and she knew that if he were to look at her in this light, his eyes would remind her of weathered copper—blue with a hint of green. He felt her presence then, and looked up at her, his smile beginning in those eyes, then spreading to that devastating show of perfect teeth that never failed to win her over, even though she tried hard to hide that dangerous fact from him.

"Catch!" she called, and he caught the apple neatly in one hand. She made her way over to sit atop his makeshift bed—a blanket and pillow on a wooden plank between two boxes-pulling out her own apple. He began idly polishing his on his vest, waiting for her to begin, delighted that she was sharing her gift with him. She'd followed him there to the attic, just as he'd predicted she would.

"Tell me," she said conversationally, "do you prefer Beelzebub or Mephistopheles?"

He smirked. "Whichever one you can spell, Little Evie." And he took a bite of the tempting fruit.

"So, _Satan_," she said with an ironic grin, "I suppose I should beware when the devil gives me peace offerings." She bit into her own apple with impressive gusto.

He chewed methodically on his bite. "Perhaps you should. That rascal always wants something in return." The wicked intent she saw in his eyes was unmistakable, and she watched, spellbound, as he rose in that graceful way of his, and began walking casually toward her, taking another bite along the way. Her heart rate increased at each step, until he stood close enough that she could smell his apple-scented breath. Her cheeks flushed as red as the fruit she held.

"How is it," she said breathlessly, "that you always know how to keep me from staying mad at you?"

"Because, dear Lisbon," he said, reaching up to tuck a loose strand from her ponytail behind her ear, "I _know_ you. I know, for example, how fruit always lifts your spirits. I know how you can barely function without your morning coffee, and how that brow furrows when a headache is coming on. I know you like good whiskey, but you don't drink much of it because you don't want to end up like your dad."

"Jane—"

"I know," he continued, taking her free hand in his, ignoring her half-hearted protest. "that you selflessly never take the last of anything—the last slice of pizza, the last piece of Van Pelt's grandmother's pie, the last bear claw-even though it was clearly reserved for you. I know you care more than you should about the victims you see every day, about the team you lead and think of as your second family. And I know that,"—and he stood between her thighs now, his mouth an inch away from hers—"if I were to kiss you now, your lips would be like those apples. Red. Sweet. Delicious."

"No," she whispered against his lips, "not here."

"How about _here_ then?" he whispered back, and his head dipped to rain soft kisses, starting at the base of her neck, working his way slowly up to take her earlobe gently between his teeth. His warm breath made her shiver, his soft hair tickled her cheek, and she forgot where she was, that she was breaking her own rules as well as the CBI's.

_He __**is**__ the devil, _she thought vaguely, her eyes closing as her other senses heightened.

"And you know what else I know," he said, moving on to nuzzle the soft hair at her temple. She could only gasp in response. "I know that you haven't been able to get the memory of waking next to me on the island out of your mind. That when you think of us in that shower, your thighs tremble as if my hand were still there." She heard the soft thud of his apple dropping on the bed, felt his warm hand resting lightly on her thigh as he kissed her cheek, moving ever closer to her slightly parted lips.

"You're such a know-it-all," she said, trying and failing to make light of what he was doing to her, to them both.

"I know," he said with a smirk, then he took her mouth with his.

Jane had planned to continue his seduction slowly, teasing her lips, exploring her mouth with a gently seeking tongue, but once he began to kiss her, it was like they both suddenly lost their minds, and the kiss took on a life of its own. It was like they were drinking the sweetest apple wine, addictive and powerfully intoxicating. Their tongues tangled madly, while Lisbon's arms wrapped around his neck, one hand still mindlessly holding the apple he'd given her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels pressing into his behind, pushing him closer to where she needed him most. Jane moaned at the intimate contact, then reached up to slide the holder smoothly from her hair, burying his hands in it, holding her mouth almost painfully to his as he plundered and took what he'd been dreaming of for days.

He allowed himself to taste and savor a few heady moments, then he became suddenly aware that his plan had gone totally awry. He began to slow his movements, releasing his hold on her head, gently smoothing her hair as he withdrew his tongue from her sweet mouth, engaging his mind to attempt to calm his breathing, to slow his heartbeat. Lisbon, however, was panting to the point of near hyperventilation, still refusing to ease her strong embrace, trying to recapture his lips, landing them on his jaw as he worked to move his face to her hair instead.

"Lisbon…_Teresa_…we need to stop." His hands came up to her upper arms, and he held her body away.

"Huh?"

"We're at the CBI, remember?"

"Oh," she said in a hoarse voice he barely recognized. Her hold on him loosened enough so he could slip away and move a few feet back from the temptation she posed, all flushed cheeks, messy hair, and swollen lips.

"I'll uh…leave first. Wait till you're calmer and then you might want to freshen up in the ladies' room."

"What? Okay." She nodded absently, trembling, grateful he was taking control of the situation, but still wanting nothing more than for him to take her there on the rickety bed.

Jane tried to walk casually to the door, but then he all but ran to the stairway door, throwing himself against the wall of the top floor landing, gripping the railing in order to stand upright. His tenuous control of his body's reactions slipped some, and he allowed the desire to wash over him again.

"Always leave them wanting more," he said aloud, his voice echoing in the stairwell. "The first rule of showmanship." He looked down at the bulge in his pants and groaned, his hand clasping his forehead. "God, I'm such an idiot."

His plan had seemed so simple—build up her desire, get her worked up so badly that she won't be able to think of anything but getting him into bed. To say this particular plan had backfired was the understatement of the decade—it was torturing them both.

"Ha," he said with much self-mockery. "Who the hell am I kidding? I can't put myself through this much longer."

He stayed in the stairwell at least a half-hour, hoping he'd given Lisbon enough time to pull herself together and take the elevator back down to her office, while he determinedly thought of California state politics and Van Pelt's grandmother.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon absently stirred her coffee and stared into space in the break room, knowing that in her jittery state the last thing she needed was more coffee, but she knew she wouldn't be able to focus on paperwork right now. She couldn't get the vision of Jane's desire filled eyes out of her mind, or the thought of him tearing off her clothes and—

"Boss? Where ya been? Hightower's been looking for you." Rigsby's deep voice made her jump, and one hand flew to her heart in surprise.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed to have startled her. "She told me to find you and tell you we've got a case. A woman was found strangled in a restroom of the capitol building."

"Oh, thank God," said Lisbon, grateful for something to get her mind off her inappropriate thoughts.

"Huh?" said Rigsby, shocked at her reaction.

"Oh. I mean, glad we can get right on that. Go bring the car around."

He looked at her skeptically, but, still clueless about the ways of women, shrugged it off and went to grab his jacket and the keys to the SUV.

Lisbon set down her coffee cup, took a deep breath, and headed for the bullpen. At that moment, Jane strolled in, whistling tunelessly as if just arriving, everyone used to the consultant's frequent morning tardiness. When he'd left the apples for Lisbon earlier, he'd been the first of the team to arrive, and he'd gone directly up to the attic, no one the wiser.

Lisbon purposefully avoided his eyes, throwing out orders to Cho and Van Pelt and even Jane, whose expertise was always needed at a crime scene. Van Pelt stayed behind while the two men walked ahead of Lisbon. She quickly swung by her office for her things, then caught up with them at the elevator. They stood a moment in silence as they waited.

_Okay, Teresa, _she said to herself, _everything's perfectly normal__**. I'm**__ perfectly normal. Jane always wears slacks that mold to his tight ass. Stop looking at his ass, Teresa. And try not to stand so close to him in the elevator. God, his cologne smells good. Why can I still smell apples? _

"Lisbon?"came Jane's humor-laden voice.

She looked up and saw that Jane and Cho were already standing in the elevator, facing her, Cho holding the door open. She blushed prettily and stepped inside.

"Sorry. Thanks, Cho. I don't know where my head is this morning."

"Must be one of those days," said Jane, in a voice so pleasant she wanted to hit him.

On the way through the lobby, he slipped her ponytail holder surreptitiously into her hand. She'd looked in vain for that in the attic earlier. He must have swiped it, the old pickpocket. He grinned at her and climbed into the backseat of the waiting vehicle, picking up the tune he'd been whistling earlier.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

After a long day of questioning witnesses, including several state congressmen, Lisbon was happy to be driving back to CBI Headquarters. Cho drove through Rigsby's favorite fast-food hamburger joint for a late lunch, to be eaten at their desks as they continued to work the case and run down leads.

"I'm thinking it was, her boss, that state rep. Office romances rarely work," Cho said tonelessly.

"Tell me about it," Rigsby concurred.

"I don't know," Jane chimed in, and Lisbon froze in her seat. "it depends on the people. They have to be able to compartmentalize. Work at work. Sex at home. Simple as that."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. When you're having an affair with a coworker, especially in the early stages, it's hard—I mean, difficult, to uh, stay focused on the job. When she's right there and you can't kiss her, it seriously messes with your self-control. Grace and I obviously couldn't keep it a secret."

"Well, at least you didn't end up killing each other," Cho said, his way of trying to comfort his fellow agent.

"Yet," Jane and Lisbon said together. Cho actually smiled. He was enjoying himself tremendously, playing devil's advocate while Rigsby seemed oblivious to the unusual tension between their boss and Jane.

"Can we please just change the subject," pleaded Rigsby, his wounds still raw where Van Pelt was concerned.

"Sure," said Jane. "But I still think office romances can succeed."

"Shut up, Jane," said Lisbon, giving him a dirty look in the side mirror. Jane merely grinned.

"Hey, Boss, pass me the bag with the French fries, will you please," said Rigsby from the back seat. "I'm starved."

A/N: I think this round goes to Jane, don't you? Next chapter, round two of Jane v. Mashburn. And Lisbon has her day too. I'm on a roll here, and also on vacation, so I'll likely have time to write more, if there are no objections. See you again soon!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here's a chapter for the Mashburn contingent. But don't worry, you Jisbon shippers, there's something for you in here too. Thanks as always for the wonderful, inspiring reviews. Happy New Year!

Chapter 4

It was almost 8:00 by the time Lisbon found a stopping point on the capitol case. Leads had hit a dead end for the day, and despite civic pressure to find the woman's killer, Lisbon was so mentally exhausted by both the case and the residual tension from her encounter with Jane that all she wanted to do was go home, climb into a warm bed and find oblivion. Several feet from her door, she saw light coming from beneath it and heard strange noises emanating from inside the apartment. Instantly alert, she pulled her gun from its holster at her hip, and reached out slowly to turn the doorknob. It was unlocked. She thought vaguely of calling for back-up, but she had the funny feeling she would probably recognize her intruder.

She pushed open the door, drawing her gun just to be on the safe side.

"Police! Stay where you are!" she shouted upon entering. At first, she thought that maybe she'd entered the wrong apartment. It had been totally transformed to look like the interior of a Moroccan tent. Her furniture, such as it was, was gone, replaced by a low table and pillows and blankets on the floor. The walls were hung with silk of various shades of green, red, and gold, matching the richly woven rugs beneath her feet. She stood in shock a moment, then turned, gun before her, to the kitchen, where Walter Mashburn stood with his hands up, an ironic grin on his face. She inhaled the scent of grilled meat and spices.

"I'm gonna burn this lamb if you don't let me put my hands down," he said.

She lowered her weapon and re-holstered it. "What the hell is this? I could have shot you. I could still shoot you for breaking and entering."

"I didn't break in. The super let me in. Well, me and my assistant."

"Well, I hope you have a new job for the super, because he's losing this one in the morning."

"Now, Teresa, calm down. Don't you love what I've done with the place?" He took the meat off the indoor grill and walked from behind the room divider. He was wearing what looked to be authentic robes of some Moroccan king. His feet were bare. She laughed in spite of herself, and he spun around to model it for her.

"Walter…this is too much, even for you."

"Now, don't give it another thought. My spy outside the CBI called when he saw you leave, so I had plenty of time to draw you a bath and put the finishing touches on our dinner. Now, go get in the tub and I'll set out the food. I heard you had a long, hard day, and I'm here to take you away from it all."

"Walter—" But he was propelling her toward the bathroom door, in spite of her protests. In truth, despite her anger at his intrusion, she found his thought to be quite sweet and creative. And if she were being even more honest, she was too tired to protest. He kissed her cheek and shut the door, allowing her privacy.

The bathtub was filled with hot water, sandalwood oil, and rose petals. Hanging from the hook where her usual ratty bathrobe would be, was a caftan similar to Walter's, but more colorful and made of pure silk, the sleeves long and billowing. A glass of zinfandel sat next to the exotic incense burning on the counter near the sink. She smiled and reminded herself that she was going to let the two men in her life court her. This apparently was courting, Mashburn style.

She took a drink of wine and undressed, then slid with a contented sigh into the exotically scented bathwater, setting the glass on the side of the tub. She'd almost fallen asleep when she heard Mashburn's soft knock.

"Teresa, would you like me to wash your back?" He asked suggestively from behind the door.

She opened her eyes and laughed softly. "No thanks. I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Take your time, sweetheart. That's what it's for. And if you change your mind about the back washing—"

"I won't. But I'll think of you while _I_ do it."

He groaned dramatically. "You sure know how to torment a guy."

She finished her bath with a smile on her face, sipped more wine, then emerged reluctantly, smelling divine and feeling much more relaxed. And the food smelled heavenly too. She hadn't eaten since the small burger at three, so whatever interesting Moroccan delicacies he'd prepared, she was more than up to them. The silk caftan flowed over her body, and she wore nothing beneath, deciding to see just how much torment Walter could bear. She took down her ponytail and caught sight of her face in the mirror, remembering how Jane had taken it out himself earlier in the day.

_No. No Jane thoughts. Not fair to Walter who has gone to so much trouble._

She shook her head at her reflection, then hastily ran a brush through her long, brown hair.

In the living room, Mashburn was reclining on the pillows surrounding the low, round table, various covered dishes awaiting her arrival. She watched as he took a drink from his own glass, then he felt her gaze and looked up at her entrance. She was gorgeous, just as he knew she would be. He'd never seen her looking so free and comfortable. He got quickly to his feet, whistling in admiration.

"Well, look at my Casablancan princess." He walked over and ran his hands up and down the soft fabric covering her arms, then leaned down to gently kiss her lips. "Come and eat. You look hungry."

She laughed. "How does one _look hungry_?"

"Trust me, Teresa, I can just tell."

He led her to the pillows and helped her to sit, then joined her. There were lamb kebabs, flat bread, couscous, and zaalouk, an eggplant and tomato salad—all of which was to be eaten with their hands.

"This looks delicious. I can't wait to try all this. I wouldn't have thought you could cook."

He looked offended. "Well, ye of little faith…grilling is a skill all men are born with. I made the kebabs. The rest, I admit, was brought in from a Moroccan restaurant, but I'm assured it is quite authentic."

He showed her how to eat each dish using her fingers, and they had fun feeding each other and laughing when they made a mess. He kept refilling their glasses with wine.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Walter?"

"No, just to relax you. You've had a long day."

"No longer than usual. I don't normally get home till seven or eight most nights—longer if we have a case. We do have one now, but we've hit a brick wall, so tomorrow it's back to trying to break through it. I sent everybody home to get some rest. Maybe that will spur some new theories in the morning."

"You're a good boss, Agent Lisbon." He seriously admired her, and Lisbon was feeling quite flattered under his intent gaze. He reached out and caressed her cheek, then set their glasses on the table.

"Thank you, Walter."

"Let me use my magic fingers and give you a nice back rub." He flexed them experimentally in front of her.

"What's with you and this obsession with my back?" she asked, smiling softly, but she turned around and laid on her stomach. He began at her shoulders, rolling and massaging them with his strong hands. She moaned in appreciation.

"You're fingers _are_ magical." He pressed down on each segment of her spine through her caftan, and she grinned into the pillow when he hesitated around where her bra would normally be. He paused again when he reached the area above her derriere, and, feeling no panty lines, proceeded to cup her silk-covered buttocks. Her smile widened as she heard his quickening breathing. His hands went back to their pressing and massaging movements.

"Walter?"

"Hmm?"

"What happened to my furniture?"

He laughed. "It's in your extra bedroom. Don't worry, all will be restored tomorrow, after our wonderful night in Morocco has ended. I am willing to bet you rarely go on vacation, and when you do, you probably don't even leave the state. I thought I'd bring a little of the outside world here to you."

"This was really lovely, Walter. So thoughtful and relaxing…"

She felt his hands slowly begin pulling her caftan up from the bottom, caressing her muscular legs, then slipping up beneath the silk to knead her naked behind.

"Stop, Walter," she murmured, sitting up, readjusting her caftan.

"Why?"

"Because—" and she cast her eyes down. "I don't think we should be together in that way until I sort some things out."

A million thoughts went through his head, all of them meandering around the subject of Patrick Jane. He couldn't let his jealousy show, though, or his uncertainty. _Confidence was the secret to getting what you want._

"Okay. You're tired. I can stand for a kiss and a cuddle. I promise not to go any farther than you want."

Her green eyes met his, and she smiled, then moved into his arms.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Outside Lisbon's window, Jane saw the silhouettes of his love and his rival, and he thought about what he could do about it. He wasn't above playing dirty to get what he wanted; actually, underhandedness was often the secret to his success. He went through his options. Fire alarm? Urgent phone call? Then the perfect solution occurred to him, and he grinned in satisfaction.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mashburn was thinking that things were just about to get very interesting, that maybe he was wearing down Teresa's resistance, when suddenly a loud cacophony of electronic sounds screamed from the parking lot. They heard sirens and alarms and a deep, police voice saying: "Step away from the car! Step away from the car!"

"Dammit!" exclaimed Masburn. "That's my car alarm. It'll go on like that for fifteen minutes if I don't turn it off."

"Well, don't you have a remote for that?"

"Yeah, but I'll need to go outside. Sorry, Teresa. Someone must have bumped it. This'll just take a minute." He got up and reached for his keys off the kitchen counter.

Just out of curiosity, Lisbon walked out with him, laughing and poking fun at the official sounding voice from the car. When his remote was in range, Washburn pressed the button. Nothing happened. Then they caught the smell of smoke in the air. From that distance, they could make out the flashing headlights of Mashburn's car, and dark smoke billowing up around it, backlit by the parking lot safety lights.

"Son of a bitch!" He yelled. Lisbon ran back into her kitchen and grabbed her small fire extinguisher, then ran back to catch up to Mashburn, who was running barefoot through the dew-drenched lawn toward his burning car.

Jane emerged from the shadows around Lisbon's apartment door. While the occupants were otherwise engaged, he walked to her door and peaked inside, laughing out loud when he saw the lengths Mashburn had gone to impress Lisbon. Then, with a smile, he turned the lock on the inside doorknob, and pulled the door shut, effectively locking them out. He snuck around the other side of the apartment complex, standing in the bushes to watch the fallout. It was comical to see both of them, looking like they were in dresses, hopping around the smoking car like they were some ancient natives dancing around a camp fire. The car continued to honk and warn maniacally, while other people came out of their apartments to gawk at the spectacle in curiosity or annoyance.

Whistling softly to himself, Jane walked to the back parking lot to his car, zipping out the side-entrance, leaving the chaos he'd created in his rear-view mirror.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jane got to the CBI Headquarters the next morning, Lisbon was already there. She looked tired and harried, no doubt nursing her second cup of coffee already.

"Rough night?" he asked, leaning against the frame of her open office door.

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"Try me," he encouraged, trying hard not to grin.

"Walter was over last night," she looked sheepish as she said this, but plowed ahead. "We'd just finished dinner when his car alarm went off."

"Really? What's so unusual about that?"

She gave him a look of barely contained impatience. "It looked like the damn thing was on fire, but when we got there, someone had just set a lot of old rags and junk on fire in the parking lot right next to his car. I put the fire out, then, when we got back to my apartment, we were locked out. I didn't have my key on me, and we couldn't find the super, who had conveniently taken the night off."

She sighed, taking a gulp of coffee. She burned her tongue, swore, then took another sip, more slowly this time.

"What did you do?" he asked, putting just enough disbelief and concern in his tone.

"I had to break open a window to get inside. Walter had to call his car alarm company to get the damned thing turned off, so we had to wait two hours for the guy to get there. The neighbors began to complain…_very_ loudly." She picked up a lock of her hair and took a deep whiff, making a face. "My hair still smells like smoke."

"It looks lovely though," Jane said softly, causing her to pause in her diatribe and look into his eyes.

"Thanks."

Then, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where were you last night between the hours of nine and ten?"

"Huh? I was at home, sipping tea and watching _Glee. _You know what a sucker I am for musical comedies."

"Right," she said, having realized the culprit of her night's troubles was likely standing before her. "You know, there are security cameras in my apartment parking lot. I should check those to see who lit the fire. And you know how much it's gonna cost to replace my window? Three hundred dollars."

"Good luck with those cameras. I hope you catch the bastard." He smiled at her and took his leave, grinning as he headed toward the break room. On the way, he passed Walter Mashburn, who nodded at him politely, then went on in to Lisbon's office, carrying a white paper sack emblazoned with the name of a local bakery.

"You have interesting taste in pajamas, Walter," Jane called casually, but didn't wait for a response.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Ten minutes later, Jane was throwing away his tea bag when Mashburn joined him in the break room.

"You were a busy boy last night," Mashburn said with reluctant admiration.

"So were you, according to Lisbon. I hope your car is okay. No smoke damage or anything?"

"No, lucky for you, otherwise that'd be the second car you owed me. I didn't know you were capable of stooping to such childish methods."

"Oh, I'm capable of lots of things, Walter, when it comes to getting what I want."

Mashburn paused, looking levelly at Jane as he sat at the table, settling in for a reviving cup of tea.

"So much for your contention that you aren't playing games…"

"I'm not, but by my count, that's two points for me."

"Two?" Mashburn said in disbelief, joining him in the chair opposite Jane.

Jane grinned, thinking briefly of his lovely interlude in the attic with Lisbon the day before. "I don't kiss and tell either, Walter."

"But you weren't there the _whole_ night last night, Patrick," Mashburn countered. "You missed out on Lisbon, naked in her bathtub, and then later, how my magic fingers worked her like a baby grand. I'd say that's at least one point for me."

Jane hesitated, but only briefly, before taking a tentative sip of his oolong. "Alright, I'll concede you a point, for effort. But just so you'll briefly experience that nice, winning feeling." They sat in silence a moment, then Jane said, "Oh—forgive my lack of manners—there's fresh coffee there that Rigsby just brewed. It's dark and strong, and can also double as paint remover."

Mashburn chuckled. "No thanks, Patrick. I really should be going. No rest for the wicked, as they say."

"I don't know about that," Jane countered, leaning back in his chair and grinning. "See ya, Walter."

"Later, Patrick."

Mashburn got to his feet, nodding to Jane and taking his leave. He didn't notice Lisbon, who had ducked into an empty office so as not to be discovered eavesdropping. She emerged after he'd had time to reach the elevator, angry as a wet cat. So, they were competing for her, playing her and even using a point system. It took all her self-control not to run into the break room and sock Jane in the nose. But wait. _If they wanted to play games, well I'm more than capable of competing with the boys. Time for some good, old-fashioned Lisbon ingenuity. _She smiled evilly._ They won't know what hit 'em._

With those thoughts in mind, Teresa Lisbon went back to her office to hatch a plan of her own.

A/N: Next chapter, Lisbon strikes back. In the meantime, please let me know what you think of this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I really had fun with this next chapter, and I hope you do too. I promise to catch up on all my replies to reviews for chapter 4, but I just couldn't wait to post this one. Now, for Lisbon's turn at bat…

Chapter 5

Over the next few days, the case came to a head, with Cho's pick of the secretary's boss, the state representative, being right on target. Cho and Jane tag teamed the interrogation and got him to admit it, as a crime of passion. After "case-closed pizza," Lisbon drew Jane aside in her office, nodding for him to shut the door.

_Well, this is promising,_ thought Jane, taking his customary seat on her couch.

"Nice job, the way you and Cho worked together," she said with a smile.

"Thanks. What else is up that you needed me to close the door for?"

"Well…we've been working hard all week and haven't had time alone since that morning in the attic." He loved the slight blush that crept into her cheeks. "So, I was thinking that maybe, since it's Friday tomorrow, we could go out on a real date for a change."

Jane evaluated her, how her eyes were all warm and glossy, how she toyed with a lock of hair-sure signs of a feminine come-on. He grinned widely. "Aren't you worried someone we know might see us?"

"We'll tell them we're on a case. Maybe undercover or something. I'm not worried, so long as we don't make a habit of it, and stay on the other side of town."

"Sounds like you've thought this all out. Anywhere in particular you'd like to go, my lady?"

She smiled softly at him. "There's this new restaurant in Belden Place. It's called Woody's. Have you heard of it?"

"No. What kind of food?"

"Just American. Steaks, burgers. Nothing fancy. It's gotten some good reviews. What can I tell ya—I'm a cheap date."

"Nothing cheap about you, Lisbon," and he poured all the love he could into such an unrefined complement.

She laughed. "Thanks, I guess. So, our reservation is for seven, under my name. I'll meet you there, for appearances sake. And if you beat me there, order me a—" she paused, considering—"Sex on the Beach." She raised her eyebrows suggestively, giving him a sexy grin.

"Oh, really? One of your little fantasies, Lisbon?"

"Maybe you'll find out tomorrow night."

His heart skipped a beat, and his mouth went dry, even though he knew she was probably just kidding. Since the last time he'd kissed her, all he could think about was kissing her everywhere, making love to her all night in a big warm bed. Now, a vision of sex on the beach with her, in some tropical location, replaced the bed idea completely. Her teasing words were having the desired effect, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"Well, I'm looking forward to it. More than I can tell you."

She looked away from his penetrating gaze a moment, with a tinge of…guilt? "Don't feel guilty about this, Teresa. It's what we've both been wanting, isn't it? Didn't we agree to try to see if this could work between us?"

"Yes," she whispered. Then, he saw her take control and put on what he had dubbed her _business _face.

He rose to leave before he did something they'd both have to answer for, like climb over her desk and take her in his arms. "I'll meet you there tomorrow night, then."

"Tomorrow night," she agreed, smiling that sultry smile once more.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Lisbon set the phone down after ending her conversation with Walter. Operation Lisbon Strikes Back was fully in place. Now, all she had to do was sit back and enjoy the show.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Walter Mashburn arrived at Woody's Restaurant at 6:45, early and admittedly anxious to get his date with Lisbon started after three whole days without seeing her. She'd been tied up with that big news making case she'd been working on, and now, since her team had nailed the bad guy, she said she was in the mood to celebrate. He was more than willing to oblige her. The restaurant wasn't exactly a dump, but it certainly wasn't worthy of Teresa's presence. It was a typical American cuisine chain-like place, with a bar in the center and the restaurant surrounding it. All the wait staff were wearing pink low-cut t-shirts with the restaurant logo of a giant woodpecker, and matching short shorts—even the men, which he thought rather amusing. The cheerful hostess took the reservation name of _Lisbon, _and showed him to a dimly lit booth near a window.

The waiter instantly took over and smiled warmly.

"Welcome to Woody's. I'll be your servant tonight. Will someone else be joining you?" The waiter actually looked hopeful that he might say no.

"Yes. I'm early." Mashburn replied, uncomfortable from the vibes the guy was putting off. "Could you bring me a scotch rocks, and my friend would like uh—" he cleared his throat and actually found himself blushing—"Sex on the Beach."

"Hmmm…that's always delicious. Coming right up." He left two menus for their perusal.

Mashburn looked around suspiciously, getting the feeling that this might not be the kind of place Teresa thought it was. He took out his cell phone and called her, hoping to prevent her from driving all this way, but for some reason, she didn't pick up. He couldn't leave because he didn't want her to think he'd stood her up. He looked at his watch. Five minutes till seven. She'd likely be there any minute, and they could find a more…appropriate dining establishment.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon sat in her car across the street from Woody's, appreciating her clear view of Walter as he sat at the booth she'd specially requested. She took out her binoculars for a closer look, enjoying his discomfort as he talked to the cute waiter. She'd even brought a bag of microwave popcorn, and she reached in with the other hand to grab a handful. She saw Walter take out his cell phone, and she glanced at her own as it rang several times before going to voice mail. She didn't bother to answer.

"That's right, Walter," she said aloud to the empty car. "Stay right where you are."

She ducked down in her seat when she saw Jane's Citroen go by, then she slowly raised her head to watch as he neatly parallel parked on the narrow street. He got out of the car, and Lisbon saw that he'd actually added a tie to his usual three-piece ensemble. His hair was better tamed than usual, and he appeared to be a little nervous as he walked to the entrance. A few minutes later, and he was brought to stand before the booth where Walter was sitting. The two regarded each other in comical shock, and Lisbon laughed out loud as she watched her plan come together so satisfactorily.

There was a bit of confusion as the two men seemed to be arguing with the waiter, then with each other, as Jane absently sat down to continue the heated conversation. Lisbon reached for her phone and began to text.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

To say that Jane was surprised to find Walter Mashburn sitting in the place where the lovely Lisbon should have been, would be the understatement of the decade.

"What the hell is this all about?" he said angrily, after the waiter dropped off the obscenely large, fruit and umbrella-laden concoction of a drink that he'd bet a million of Mashburn's dollars was called Sex on the Beach.

"I have no fuckin' idea! Teresa said I was to meet her here at seven. What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

Jane looked around the restaurant, trying to get a clue as to what could have led to this horrible misunderstanding. "Walter," he said at last, much more calmly. "Did you notice that every table has a same-sex couple sitting at it, uh, including us?"

When Mashburn's gaze alighted on two women kissing cozily in a corner booth, the dawning of understanding overcame him like the waves of some tropical beach.

"We've been set up," Mashburn said in astonishment.

"We've been played, but good," Jane concurred.

Just then, both their cell phones buzzed and binged their respective incoming text alerts, and the two men brought them out to read. They'd both received the same message.

_Score 1 for Lisbon. U boys have been messin with the wrong girl. Nice tie, Jane._

Jane and Mashburn looked up from their phones, eyes searching the restaurant for their mistress of deception. Jane happened to look out the window, his eyes caught by the flashing headlights of a familiar car across the street, and the faint waving of a feminine arm. She honked once for further emphasis.

"There she is," Jane said, pointing at the window. "She figured out what we were up to. We have officially been punked. Well, I'll show her _punked._"

Jane got to his feet, heading for the door to ring a certain CBI agent's lying little neck, nearly running down the waiter on his way. Mashburn was close behind.

"Hey! Don't you boys want dinner? Who's paying for these drinks?"

Mashburn stopped and pulled out his wallet, tossing the waiter a hundred dollar bill, then running through the restaurant after Jane.

"Thanks!" called the waiter.

Outside, Lisbon slowed her car at the restaurant entrance, as if she were about to stop for them, but she honked and laughed, then sped off into the night. The two men watched her leave, huffing from exertion.

"That little minx," said Jane, grinning widely. "How did she find out?"

"You tell me, psychic man. Well, the jig is definitely up. I doubt she'll ever speak to either one of us again."

Jane was much more optimistic. "You're looking at this in totally the wrong way, Walter," he said, reaching up to put his arm around his rival's shoulders. "Now the real competition can begin, everything above board. Much more challenging that way, don't you think?"

Mashburn looked at him like he'd gone insane. "You've gotta be kidding me. This is going to be like climbing Mt. Everest now. Without climbing gear. Blind. In a blizzard. Barefoot."

Jane laughed at his imagery. "That pessimism, my friend, is why you are bound to fail."

Two men walked past them into the restaurant, holding hands and smiling knowingly. "Aren't they a cute couple?" one said to the other, in a clearly audible whisper.

Instantly, Jane took his arm from around Mashburn's shoulders. "We're uh, not a couple," Jane called by way of explanation.

"We are two straight men," Mashburn seconded, stepping far away from Jane. "Not that there's anything wrong with your lifestyle choice," he hurriedly amended. But the couple had long since entered the restaurant, leaving his words to hang uncomfortably in the night air. Jane's eyes met Mashburn's and then skittered hurriedly away.

Without another word, the two self-avowed straight men headed to their separate vehicles.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon laughed all the way back to CBI Headquarters, careful not to choke on the handfuls of popcorn. The guard waved her inside the gate, and she parked and went inside, fully intending to finish up the last of her paperwork on the murder case so she could have the entire weekend free.

She didn't notice the light blue car following soon after. "Evenin' George!" Jane called to the guard.

"Evenin' Mr. Jane!"

Jane parked in his usual place, watching as Lisbon walked through the lobby toward the elevator. There were no other cars in the lot this late on a Friday night. He slid his key card in the door and walked in toward where Lisbon waited near the elevator. She caught sight of Jane with a look akin to panic, reaching out to stab the _up_ button five more times.

"I bet you're feeling quite proud of yourself," he called menacingly. His mouth was an angry line, but his eyes twinkled with humor.

"Jane—" She held up her hands defensively, ready to lay into him for his own recent actions.

The elevator door slid open, and Lisbon rushed inside, trying in vain to get the doors to close before he caught up. His hand came up to stop the doors, and he easily slipped inside. He backed her further inside the small enclosure, pressing her back into the wall with his body. He for once would not complain at how slow this old elevator was.

"That was sheer brilliance," he breathed, his mouth a hair's breadth from hers. "You are a lady truly worthy of my steel." He arched his pelvis forward for emphasis. She closed her eyes briefly at his arousing proximity.

"You and Walter deserved it. I overheard you yesterday in the break room. You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves. That was the most sexist, self-centered display of machismo I've ever heard."

"Really? You haven't listened to Rigsby much lately, have you?" He grinned, his eyes studying hers, noting with glee her dilating pupils.

"At least Rigsby isn't a two-faced, lying…oh, God…"

Jane had begun breathing softly into her ear, his tongue circling it's delicate shell.

"Getting back at us was a real turn-on for you, wasn't it?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said on a sigh, unable to deny anything when he was close to her like this.

"Well, we should really strike while the Lisbon's hot, don't you think?"

She could only nod before finding his full lips with her own. Her arms wrapped around him, as they made love to each other's mouth, each caress and swipe of their tongues imitating what they'd like to be doing with the rest of their bodies. Jane couldn't seem to get close enough to her, and he moved against her with a mixture of passion and frustration, not noticing that her hand had moved down toward her trouser pocket.

"Too many clothes," he breathed, their hearts pounding against one another.

"We can't," she said, between ardent kisses. "As soon as this elevator stops, the security cameras will be all over us. George will see…"

"Well, then let's stay in the elevator. I've dreamed of taking you against a wall."

Her heart jolted at the imagery his wreckless words created, but her hand still managed to wrap around the handcuffs she kept in her pocket, and, pouring on the passion, she distracted him just enough so that she could clamp one cuff on his left wrist, the other on the safety rail inside the elevator.

"What the-? Lisbon!"

He looked down at his captured hand, pulling on it experimentally, but he was held fast. The elevator door opened on their office floor, and Lisbon jumped quickly out of his reach.

"Have a nice night, lover boy!" she said, as the door slid closed on his shocked face. "And that's another point for Team Lisbon!"

"Lisbon!" she heard his muffled cry through the door. "Teresa!"

She chuckled in triumph, then went hurriedly to her office, grabbed her paperwork, and headed toward the stairs. The elevator alarm was buzzing just as she made it down to the lobby, and she passed George, heading inside at the sound of the insistent alarm.

"That damned old elevator," he was muttering to himself. "Oh, goodnight Agent Lisbon."

"Goodnight, George."

She kinda wished she could be there to hear how Jane would explain his way out of this one.

A/N: Hope that wasn't too silly or offensive to anyone. It was all in good fun, I assure you. I do hope you'll take the time to review, and I promise, I'll reply to everyone that logs in first!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: So glad everyone saw the humor in the last chapter. Now, prepare yourselves to abruptly switch gears. The following chapter is a little on the angsty side at first, then I must insert an "M" warning for the rest.

**Chapter 6**

Lisbon had just gotten out of the shower late Saturday morning when she heard a knock on the door. She wondered which of her angry suitors would be waiting for her. She walked to the door in her lounge pants and form-fitting t-shirt, drying her hair with a towel as she did. She looked through the peephole. Jane.

"I know you're in there, Lisbon," he said through the door. "We need to talk."

"Go away. Haven't you had enough humiliation to last you awhile?" She grinned to herself, remembering the events of the night before.

"Yeah, yeah. Enjoy yourself in there. I know you're laughing to yourself, patting yourself on the back for your brilliant schemes. But I'd like to call a truce."

"Oh, really?"

"Really. I'm serious. Open the door, please Lisbon?" She peeped again, seeing his blue puppy dog eyes and pleading expression. She sighed, hating herself for her weakness where Patrick Jane was concerned.

"Okay. But no more tricks, you got it?"

"Does that count for you too, handcuff girl?"

"I'm changing my mind in here…"

"Okay. I'm sorry," he said contritely. "Please, let me—"

The door opened suddenly, and they faced each other without the barrier of the door between them. The air seemed to crackle with electricity as he hungrily sized her up, her wet hair reminding him of the recent shower they'd shared. He inhaled the tantalizing scents of cinnamon and freshly washed cotton.

Lisbon seemed similarly affected by him. He was newly shaven (for once), hair damp and beginning to take on its curling ways. He was wearing faded, well-worn jeans, a blue t-shirt, a hooded grey sweatshirt, unzipped, and sneakers. She couldn't remember ever seeing him so casual in public, but he wore it well. Her heart sped up in her chest.

He swallowed, a bit shaken, himself. "May I come in?"

"Oh. Sure." She stepped aside as he purposefully brushed against her to enter her apartment. He looked around the living room, smiling to see it was back to normal, given the Moroccan theme she'd had going on earlier in the week.

"No more pillows on the floor? Leftover couscous?" he asked, braving her wrath.

"I can still throw you out—"she began, eyes narrowed to angry slits.

He held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry. Truce, remember?"

She shut the door. "May I offer you some tea?"

At his amused expression, she flushed scarlet, but her voice was strong. "I mean, of the _drinking _variety."

"Certainly. Whatever you've got."

She filled the teakettle and set it on the burner. Jane sat on a barstool at her kitchen counter, watching as she got out two teacups and saucers, and a box of assorted herbal teas. Her hands only shook a little.

"I see you managed to get free from the elevator. If only I could have been a fly on _that_ wall…"

"George is a perceptive guy. He figured out what had happened immediately, and used his own key to unlock me. Don't worry though, that old man is very discreet. Oh, here…" He reached into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out her trusty handcuffs. They clattered as he set them on the counter. "You might need these again sometime."

"Maybe sooner than you think if you ever try to win me again like a kewpie doll in some seedy carnival game. That was really low, Jane, even for you."

"Hey—I wasn't the only one."

"I'll deal with Walter soon enough. Don't change the subject; we're talking about you here."

"I know. I take full responsibility for my part in this. On the surface, this may look like a game, but it was very serious for me."

"I told you I wasn't pitting you and Walter against each other."

"Aww, Lisbon, that's a load of bull." But he grinned despite the insult.

She stood looking at him, jaw dropping in shock.

"Don't kid a kidder," he continued, taking advantage of her momentary speechlessness. "You have had a grand old time this whole week, two eligible bachelors falling all over each other trying to win your heart. It's a dream come true for a woman just coming out of a dry spell."

Lisbon found her voice after that proclamation. "A dry spell—"she sputtered. "You arrogant ass! You are the _poster boy_ for dry spells, Patrick Jane. At least with Walter, I'm betting on a sure thing in that department."

She regretted her words instantly, especially when Jane seemed to deflate right before her eyes. "Jane—I'm sorry. That wasn't fair."

He got up from the stool, hurt to his soul, but unwilling for her to see it. "No, you're perfectly correct there. I'm always the first to advocate facing hard truths. Walter has many strengths over me, I'm sure. You're a highly discerning woman, Lisbon; I only want you to choose who you feel is best for you. If that means money and prowess in the bedroom, well, you go for it. I mean that sincerely."

He turned toward the door just as the tea kettle whistled. Lisbon impatiently turned off the burner so that then she had to run to head him off.

"Wait, please. Don't leave like this."

He paused, hand on the doorknob, and laughed humorlessly. "You're right. I shouldn't leave until I put all my cards on the table. Consider this my final plea. My last hurrah. My—well, you get the idea." He took a deep breath, more scared now than he was when he was in the presence of Red John months ago. Funny how that came to mind. He shook his head as if to clear it, a pained smile on his face.

"I do have money, you know," he began, eyes cast down to the floor. "I couldn't finance a small country like Walter could, but I do own a five million dollar beach house with a mint condition Lamborghini in the garage. Of course, no one would buy it now, not in this economy, and I hear it's really hard to get blood stains off the—"

"Jane, stop this," Lisbon said, not realizing that tears were coursing down her cheeks. She put her hand on his arm, willing him to let go of the doorknob and turn to face her. He did, and his eyes were glassy with his own emotion.

"I thought you knew me better than that," she said shakily. "I don't give a fig about Walter's money. You know why I was first attracted to him? He reminded me of you. I only just realized this when he came back on Monday. I suspect that the main reason I got with him was because subconsciously I wanted you all along, but that just wasn't possible, in my estimation. When he came back, I also realized what a great guy he is in his own right. He cares about me, and that's something I couldn't just throw away, despite the feelings I have for you."

He reached up and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "And what are those feelings, if one may ask? Do you even know? Because I'm very sure of mine. And that's the last card in my hand, Teresa, the one thing I believe I have over Walter Mashburn. He may care about you, and I'm pretty sure he wants you in his bed, but—" and he gulped back a wave of emotion, feeling it welling up into his throat, spilling over from his eyes. "but I…_I'm_ in love with you, and damned if I know what I'll do if you don't feel the same."

They stood there like that, in near suspended animation, Jane's hand cupping her wet cheek, Lisbon's hand on his arm. Inside, Jane was feeling an odd combination of relief and fear, waiting for her to process what he'd just uttered. He'd taken the ultimate risk, taken them to a place from which they could never turn back. He knew if she refused him, denied she loved him, well, he could survive it, but he knew his world would revert to the dark place it had been after his family was murdered, and the drive for revenge would become his sole purpose in life once more. Lisbon had insinuated herself betwixt him and a living hell of guilt and anger. If she were to take move from that spot, well, Hell could have him again.

From deep inside Lisbon came a bubbling feeling of pure joy, and she felt it move from her stomach, warming its way through her limbs, moving to envelope her galloping heart, then to finally thaw her frozen brain. She looked at this man standing before her. This infuriating, difficult, damaged man who had just proclaimed his love for infuriating, difficult, damaged her. Her other hand came up tentatively, wiping the moisture from the corner of his eye, stepping closer to him so that she could put one hand on either cheek, staring deeply into two watery pools of blue.

"That's some card you have there," she whispered, her eyes now holding the warm joy that had overtaken the rest of her body. "Leave it to you to wait until the last minute to play it. Funny thing, though. I have one just like it."

His eyes lit up, and his other hand cupped her other cheek, a perfect mirror image of Lisbon's actions. "Say it, Teresa. Say it before I die here in your foyer, before you have to call Cho and Rigsby to bag and tag me and send me to the morgue. Say it before—"

"I love you too," she said softly, cutting him off mid-babble.

"Are you sure?" He had to ask this, because he was Patrick Jane.

Her eyes narrowed. "I can still take it back."

"You damn well better not," he said, and then he kissed her. Their lips met in echoing gasps of laughter and longing, and they each tasted the bitter salt of tears. Hands moved through damp hair, pulling heads closer, angling for a deeper connection, consuming each other like they'd been starving for days.

Lisbon's hands went to pull off his sweatshirt, and she didn't even hear it dropping to the floor. Her warm fingers pulled his t-shirt up so she could touch bare skin, while Jane's hands slipped beneath her shirt, cupping her breasts through her bra while she moaned into his mouth. She moved her hands to his back pockets, pulling him closer so she could feel how much he wanted her.

"Where's the bed?" he managed, through hot, drugging kisses. "I need a bed right now, and God help you, woman, if there's no _tea_ in there."

She laughed against his mouth, reluctant to stop kissing him, if only to guide him into her bedroom. So she kissed him all the way there, pushing him backward through the hall, stepping out of her elastic waist pants that he'd stopped long enough to pull down for her. Her hands fiddled with the top snap of his jeans, and the zipper sounded loud in the dim hallway as she suddenly found herself backed against the wall. His mouth left hers to bite at her right nipple through her t-shirt, and she gasped at the mixture of pain and desire that shot through her. Her hands went to his hair as he spread the love to her other breast, giving it the same sensual treatment. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes, feeling faint when his hand roamed down to her panties, cupping her gently through the silky fabric.

"Bed, Jane, remember?" She panted.

"Sorry," he chuckled. "I forgot where I was going." His head came up to kiss her again, and he picked her up by the waist, running awkwardly the last few feet to her bedroom door, then falling with her onto the unmade bed, both of them helpless with passion and laughter.

He made short work of the rest of her clothes, tossing them in the air with abandon. She smiled as she saw her panties hanging from the unmoving ceiling fan above them. His t-shirt was the next to go, then he stepped away so he could divest himself of his shoes, pants, and boxers.

"Wait," she said, eyes sparkling, "let me feast my eyes on you." She sat up on her elbows, admiring the view of naked Jane, who, by the looks of him, was quite taken with her as well. He blushed like a schoolboy under her heated gaze, then took a tour of her body with his own eyes. By the time their eyes finally met again, it was with some disbelief that this was really going to happen for them. He lowered himself back on top of her, both of them shuttering in delight, the only thing between them now was her simple crucifix, which he picked up with his index finger.

"I'm about to commit a great sin with you, my love. Are you sure you want to be wearing that while I do?"

"Said Satan to the tempted Eve…"

He shook his head, blue eyes twinkling in that wicked way she had only observed in her presence. "And I don't even need apples this time."

"No, all you need is…you." They smiled tenderly at each other, then Jane began a thorough exploration of Lisbon's hills and valleys.

His mouth rediscovered her breasts, and she moaned as he alternated between light flicks and suckling them till she was begging for release. She looked down to find his curly head lowering to trace the defined muscles of her stomach, and she began breathing even more heavily when she realized where his exploration was taking him. He felt her eyes on him, and when he looked up at her, looking back at him, it was the most sensual moment of her life. He grinned softly, and delved into her center with his hot tongue. Her hips came off the bed in ecstasy, and her eyes squinted closed.

"Oh, God!" she nearly shrieked. She felt him chuckling against her.

"You forget to whom you are speaking," he said between swirling licks.

"Be—Be—Beelzebub doesn't sound quite as—yes, like that, ohhh—as hot in the throes of-yessss!"

A few more minutes of that and Lisbon was thrashing her head from side to side, thighs trembling as she found her release, crying out over and over as he continued his oral assault, bringing her over the edge a second time—a personal milestone for her. "Jesus, Mary, and Josef," she murmured, laughing and crying at the same time, "where have you been all my life?"

He climbed up her body till he covered her completely. "Right in front of you, Teresa, as you've been right in front of me." He kissed her lightly, but was breathing heavily with unfulfilled needs of his own. She bent one knee, and he groaned a little as he felt her heat beneath him.

"I think it's time for tea, don't you?" she said, smiling enticingly. "You'll find it in the top drawer of the bedside table."

Jane grinned, reaching out a hand to open the drawer. "An excellent place to keep it. What flavor would you like?"

"Surprise me." And she closed her eyes, listening with a smile as he sat up and tore open a packet to prepare himself for her. He settled again in the cradle of her thighs, holding himself above her.

"Teresa," he said breathlessly, "open your eyes."

The moment her emerald gaze met his blue, he slid slowly inside her body, both of them gasping in pleasure. He stilled to find some control, maintaining eye contact as he began an easy, sensual rhythm. Lisbon rose up to meet him, then wrapped her legs around him as his movements became more forceful with each deep thrust. She watched in wonder at the expressions crossing his lightly perspiring face. As he got closer to release, they found themselves tearing up at the beauty of their joining, feeling closer to each other than they ever had to anyone before. With a cry he fell against her, holding her closely, kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, her lips, his hands smoothing back her hair, his face burrowing into her neck. His harsh breathing filled her ear, and she caressed his back with gentling hands. They stayed like that a few minutes, still joined, as their hearts slowly decelerated. With a reluctant moan, he left her body to dispose of the condom, but he was back in her bed and in her arms in no time.

They lay on their sides, facing each other, their bodies cooling as they both came down from their ultimate high. Lisbon reached over to lovingly brush a fallen curl back from his face.

"I love you, Patrick," she said, letting the unfamiliar use of the verb and his first name slide smoothly over her tongue like gelato. He gave her his most winning smile, the one that always made her melt a little inside.

"And I love you, Teresa, more than I ever dreamed I could love someone again." He pulled her into his arms, and they held each other until they drifted off into contented sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Walter stood outside Teresa's door, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. He had a lot of explaining to do, a lot of pleading and groveling, but he was willing to do anything to get back in her good graces. He put up his fist to knock, but the door wasn't fully closed, and it opened the moment he touched it. Concerned, he pushed it on open.

"Teresa?" he called, thinking she might have just forgotten to pull the door completely closed. But, on second thought, that just wasn't like the security-minded CBI agent. He walked on in. In the small entryway he saw a man's hooded sweatshirt on the floor. Now he was _definitely_ concerned. Had she been assaulted by some deranged burglar?

He trod softly across the carpeted floor, listening closely for any hints of what he might be walking into. In the hallway, he found her sleep pants. At her bedroom doorway, he surveyed his discovery with a sinking heart. The lovers slept, entwined, their discarded clothing surrounding the bed, the bedside table askew.

Walter left the roses on the kitchen table, then quietly locked the apartment door behind him.

A/N: _Sniff, sniff._ I hated to do that to poor Walter, but this is ultimately a Jisbon story, after all. Hope you Lisburn people aren't so broken-hearted that you won't let me know what you thought. Someone had to win, and I personally am happy to crown Jane king of Lisbon's heart. But don't get too discouraged—this story isn't over quite yet.


	7. Chapter 7: Conclusion

A/N: I thought this might go an additional chapter, but I re-evaluated and saw that this was a good place to end this particular story. I hope it is satisfactorily concludes this arc, leaving me room to continue on when I am next inspired. This chapter is dedicated to the Lisburn fans…

Chapter 7: Conclusion

They had slept maybe an hour when Lisbon was awakened by the sound of the front door clicking. Being the cop that she was, she was especially attuned to such noises, and rarely slept deeply for long. So when she heard her door, she bolted up in her bed and automatically reached for the gun she kept beneath her mattress. Jane was still asleep, so she climbed quietly out of bed, creeping out of her room completely naked, her gun held out before her. She stopped short when she saw the roses on the kitchen table.

_Walter had been here._

And then, of course, she knew that he knew.

_Dammit._

She lowered her weapon to her side and went to the closed blind to peep out of one slat. Sure enough, she could see Walter getting into his car, start it up, and drive away. She hung her head. She'd never wanted to hurt him like this. She didn't want him to think she'd been using him, but she began to seriously wonder if she really _had_ been—maybe not consciously, but unconsciously, especially at first. Walter had boosted her ego, allowed her to step into a fantasy world where anything was possible, yet still leave with her heart intact. Ultimately, he'd helped her to see that Jane was who she really wanted, but there was no way she could ever thank him for that. She owed him something, but didn't know how to go about paying him back.

Lisbon heard the slight creaking of her bed, then Jane's footfalls in the hallway. She turned to see him a minute later as he stood before her, caught off guard by naked Lisbon in the living room. With a gun. A slow, sensual grin spread across his face.

"I've had some fantasies before, but nothing ever remotely like this."

He had put on his boxer shorts, and Lisbon felt herself flushing at her state of undress. "I uh, heard a noise."

Jane caught sight of the bright red bouquet. "Awww…" he said knowingly. He walked the last few feet to her, took the gun from her hand and set it on the coffee table, then took her into his arms. She hugged him back, laying her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry he found out this way, Teresa," he said, trailing a gentle hand up and down her bare back. "You know, if you'd turned to him, I would have been devastated and possibly suicidal, but at least I would have been comforted to know you were with a guy like Walter. And I think he might have changed his womanizing ways for you. I know I have."

She smiled into his warm skin. "Yeah...right. Still, this isn't the way anyone should lose a bet."

He pulled away and lifted her chin with one finger. "We weren't betting, Lisbon. We were having a gentleman's competition, and I'm happy to call you my prize." He kissed her lightly on the nose, grinning at her obvious annoyance at that characterization.

"But Walter—"

"—will be okay. Trust me."

She smirked. "Yes. Because that's always worked before."

His soothing hands had begun to make naughty forays between their bodies to cup and to caress her, punctuating his words with kisses on her neck and face.

"Walter's a girl in every port kind of guy. And, while admittedly he realized you are special, worth more of his time than the supermodels and socialites he normally dates, he knows deep down he really wasn't the man for you."

"I suppose you're going to tell me that _you_ are the man for me?" But her voice was shaky with new desire, and her knees had begun to go weak as he pulled her closer against his arousal. He shrugged.

"Only time will tell, Lisbon. After all, I'm not really a psychic. I just played one on TV." They smiled as their lips met, and their mouths parted, taking each other in.

Sunday afternoon, Lisbon drove to Walter Mashburn's mansion, just north of San Francisco. She stopped at the guard station, flashing her badge to the man on duty.

"Agent Teresa Lisbon, CBI," she told the guard. "I need to speak with Mr. Mashburn, please."

She wasn't sure Walter would see her, so she wasn't above using her identity to make sure that he would. The guard waved her on through. She drove up the winding drive, remembering the last twenty-four hours as if it had been a dream. She and Jane hadn't left her apartment until earlier this morning. They'd spent the whole time in bed or snuggling on the couch, alternately making love or watching old movies. Her shower wasn't as large as the West Wind's, but they'd made do. She learned that Jane could cook one thing very well: omelets. He'd used the meager contents of her fridge and freezer to make small, gourmet masterpieces, both for dinner the night before and breakfast that morning. Supplement that with ice cream and fresh strawberries, and they were both in gastronomical heaven.

Lisbon blushed to think of the things they'd done, the pleasure they'd found in one another's arms. She was a little sore, but sated, and when he'd left earlier, she hadn't wanted to let him go. She'd actually teared up as she watched him walk to his car. He'd turned around halfway to the parking lot to look back at where she stood at her door. _I love you, _he'd mouthed.The sunlight had made his eyes bright blue, his beach boy looks-wild, sun streaked hair and laid back smile-made her want to run across the lawn into his arms. But she couldn't do that. It was too public, too rife with the danger of people she knew finding out about them. So she'd mouthed her reply and waved, knowing they would see each other bright and early Monday morning to begin their life of secrets. Well, of _more _secrets.

But now, she had to face Walter. She owed him that much, she figured, given his efforts to woo her, and the unfortunate way he'd found out about her and Jane. His assistant led her to the heated pool in the back yard, where she watched Mashburn swim several laps before he noticed she was there. He swam to the side, huffing a little with exertion.

"Teresa. Good to see you. Just attempting to drown my sorrows, as you can see."

She was suddenly a bit tongue-tied, especially when he pulled himself out of the pool, revealing his tall, lean body and Speedo bathing suit that left little to the imagination. She tossed him a towel from a table nearby, and he stood dripping as he dried off, then grabbed his terry cloth robe from the back of a lounge chair. He nodded toward the patio furniture, and she sat down.

He grabbed two beers from an ice bucket, and handed her one. She opened it gratefully and took a swig for courage.

"I'm sorry, Walter," she said softly, noting how he was having difficulty looking directly at her.

He smiled a little. "Don't be. All's fair in love and business, I like to say. I knew coming in that Jane was a force to be reckoned with, and you two have history on your side. I should have known better, but you know how hard it is for me to back down when there's something I want."

She returned his smile. "Yeah. I've noticed. Still, I hated that it ended this way. You're a good man, Walter. I hope we can always be—"

"Don't you dare say _friends_, Teresa. What—did you come all this way to twist the knife?"He clutched at his chest melodramatically. She was relieved that he was making jokes instead of acting maudlin or angry.

"The roses were beautiful," she ventured awkwardly. "You're such a thoughtful guy."

He waved off her compliment. "Nah, just part of the overall _get Lisbon back into bed_ strategy. Sorry I didn't get a chance to use them. Those babies work every time."

"I'll bet. I want to thank you, though, Walter. It was so flattering to have two handsome, charming men fighting over me. I've never felt so desired in my whole life."

"Well, that should never have been the case. You should always have men throwing themselves at you, making fools of themselves in Moroccan caftans." He laughed at himself, shaking his head and taking a long draught of beer.

"You weren't foolish at all. It was very complementary, like I said…"

"Oh, Teresa, I've always been a fool for love. Witness my less than stellar record where marriage is concerned. But ya know what? I thought it could be different with you. You and I…there was something there…a spark I haven't felt in a long time."

"Yes," she acknowledged. "Yes, there was. And we acted upon it. And if Jane and I hadn't…well—I could see you and I together, Walter. It would be fun with you, but I don't think you're a long-term kind of guy, no offense."

He cocked his head at her, extremely surprised at this particular insight. "Really? You don't think I could commit to you long term?"

"I'm sorry, but no. A girl's got to look at a man's track record. Just like the perps I see every day, past is prologue. You look at their criminal record as a good indicator as to what they are more likely to do again. Sorry for the criminal comparison, but that's what I know, and I think it proves true for most people, even the innocent ones."

Walter grinned. "Oh, and I never claimed to be innocent. You're a wise woman, Teresa. That's why I wanted you. That's why if things don't work out between you and Patrick, I'll be happy to be there to pick up the pieces. After I kick his ass, of course."

"Thanks for that, Walter. But if he breaks my heart, you'll have to get in line."

They looked at each other, a peaceful kind of understanding between them. "I'm curious though, Teresa, as the proverbial _friend._ How do you two plan to work this out, what with the CBI regulations and all? Aren't you doomed before you even begin?"

"Maybe. Love will find a way, I'm hoping."

"Awww. So it's love then, is it?"

Lisbon blushed and nodded. "Yes. I didn't want to hurt you by saying it. But I do love him, Walter. I think I have for a long time. You think I could let go of a man like you if love weren't the issue?"

"You're a treasure, Teresa Lisbon. I hope to hell Patrick appreciates you. Given his history, I wonder if he'll be any better at commitment than I am."

Lisbon secretly wondered the same thing, but she had to trust what she was feeling, take a risk, or she'd kick herself the rest of her life. "There are no guarantees, Walter. I guess I'll just have to summon up some faith here." She took another drink of her beer, set it down, and rose to leave.

She leaned over and kissed Walter softly on the lips. "Thanks for everything, my friend. And just so you know, you were the best one-night-stand I've ever had."

His hand came up to press the back of her head, bringing her lips back to his, invading her mouth with a hot, persuasive tongue.

"Ditto, Agent Lisbon," he said to her wide eyes. He felt acute satisfaction that she'd automatically kissed him back. _Take that, Patrick, _he consoled himself with a smile.

She grinned at his audacity. "Good bye Walter."

"See ya around, Teresa."

He watched her walk away, chugging his beer until it was gone. Then he reached over and finished hers, too.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three days later, Walter Mashburn stepped out into the morning sun on his way to the airport. His phone rang and he fished it out of his breast pocket.

"Sir, there's a delivery for you here at the gate. Says it's from Patrick Jane from the CBI."

Curious, Mashburn grinned a little into the phone. "Well, send it on up."

While he waited, he made a quick business call until the loud rumble of an approaching truck made it impossible for him to talk. He put his phone back and stood in awe as a diesel cab pulling a flatbed trailer came to a stop in front of him. Its cargo was a car—but not just any car. The driver hopped out, lowering a ramp on the back of the flatbed. He climbed up, disengaged the safety blocks, got into the car, and slowly backed the vehicle down the ramp.

"Holy shit!" Mashburn said under his breath as the vehicle came to life. The driver had a huge grin on his face as he pushed open the wing-like doors and stepped out before Mashburn.

"I never thought in a million years I'd be behind the wheel of one of these babies. She purrs like a kitten, doesn't she?" He presented Mashburn with a receipt, the keys to the car, and an envelope with his name written on it in a flowery hand.

Mashburn was so shocked that he couldn't even muster a thank you. He just pulled out his money clip and absently slapped a few bills into the delivery man's hand. Seeing the cash, the man thanked _him _wholeheartedly, got back into his truck, and lumbered away, leaving Mashburn to ponder the 2003 Lamborghini Murcielago , jade green, parked before him. He remembered the envelope and opened it to find a simple, white card.

_Dear Walter,_

_Please accept this consolation prize as a poor substitute for the true beauty you have lost. It's not nearly as sexy or as warm as Teresa, but hopefully it will afford you a different type of pleasure. Enjoy it in good health, my friend._

_Patrick Jane_

Well, Jane was right about it being a poor substitute, but Walter Mashburn was nothing if not pragmatic. He'd lost the girl, but gained a Lamborghini, and it only hurt a little that the color of the car exactly matched the color of her eyes.

THE END

A/N: Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts and giving me such wonderful encouragement. I'll be taking a little break from this fandom for a while to focus on my other love, "Moonlight." If you like my writing, and liked that great though short-lived show, click on my name and check out my "Moonlight" fics. They're my babies! Or, if you have never seen "Moonlight," get ye to Netflix or to a video store and rent it! (Then, come back and read my continuing fics. ;) But, who knows, I might be inspired to write a "Mentalist" episode tag here and there—depends on the shows to come. I do foresee more fics for this fandom in my future, and it is mainly thanks to your support. See you soon!


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